


gabriel's law

by Arya_Silvertongue



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29412900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Silvertongue/pseuds/Arya_Silvertongue
Summary: It never gets easier, no matter how many times John has done it. It will still be the same blue eyes, the same look of betrayal right before they close.It never gets easier, but he is Rodney’s only hope, and John has always known that he is destined to damn the whole universe in a bargain for one man.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 17
Kudos: 18
Collections: Stargate Winter Fic Exchange 2020-21





	gabriel's law

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kimber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimber/gifts).



i.

  
  


John is sitting in a shadowed corner when the door opens.

The faint, orange light that spills from the corridor doesn’t give his position away, but he knows he’s been made the moment Rodney steps in. John watches broad shoulders stiffen right before a soft hiss bathes the room back in darkness, thick curtains muting all but the palest hint of moonlight.

Before he can open his mouth to announce himself, a loud huff breaks the silence, a sound that’s so familiar it steals all of John’s words away.

“I don’t have time for this,” Rodney snaps.

Then the lights in the bathroom are turned on with a handwave that’s barely visible but obviously irritated, the wash of it so sudden and so bright John knows Rodney will be able to make out the hunched shape draped over his desk chair if he wants to. Instead, Rodney shucks off his shoes and steps over the threshold without another word, leaving John alone with the noise in his head.

_Rule # 1: Never go beyond forty-eight hours._

It’s only when John hears the sound of running water that he allows himself to breathe out.

A tacky digital clock on the bedside table tells him it’s a quarter past midnight, and even by Atlantis standards, it’s considered pretty late. The hallways had been empty when he arrived, and barring the occasional disaster, people in the city really do keep good hours. John doesn’t see any reason why things will be different here.

So contrary to what he muttered earlier, Rodney does, in fact, have all the time in the world, and John knows what had him wandering outside his quarters so late into the night. John’s known since he stepped inside a room that’s both strange and well-known, slipping on a wedding ring that isn’t his.

_Rule # 2: Keep interactions to a minimum._

John snaps out of his daze when the bathroom door opens, and he’s out of the chair like a shot before he can stop himself. The shock of cold hands on warm and wet skin makes them both freeze, and Rodney manages a soft gasp just as John presses their mouths together. 

“What—”

It’s automatic, the way Rodney responds to him. Soft lips move against John’s as though on instinct, like they’ve done this a million times before, and while it’s another painful reminder of where John is and who he isn’t, he loses himself in the sensation. He swallows every one of Rodney’s half-formed words, steals each breath for his own.

The kiss fuels something black and ugly inside John’s chest for all of five seconds before strong hands finally push him away by the shoulders, away from the searing mark of his guilt and damnation.

When he opens his eyes, it’s to Rodney’s confusion, to protests and the sound of a name he refuses to acknowledge. It’s not the first time he’s heard it, none of what’s happening is new, not by a long shot, but the desperation inside John is fresh and sharp and only starting to grow beyond the chasm in his breastbone. 

“John, stop— what are— _fuck_ , you can’t just— _John_.”

With a well-placed leg and a hard twist to Rodney’s left arm, John gets them both on the bed in a tumble. The last thing he sees is bright blue, glistening in the yawning darkness, before everything fades away for the second time that night.

_Rule # 3: Don’t do anything that can give you away._

John’s shirt is the last to go before there’s nothing between them but bare skin. He moves away from Rodney’s mouth just long enough to take it off before he’s diving back in, body burning like a signal fire everywhere they touch.

He’s still got both Rodney’s arms pinned to the mattress, but Rodney’s stopped struggling around the same time their pants came off, his own energy now focused on giving as good as he gets. Rodney’s hands find every spot in John that matters, every nerve ending that sets goosebumps on his flesh and coaxes loud groans out of his lips.

“Don’t think— _shit_ — don’t think, think that I—”

Rodney whispers secrets into his skin, too. Words not meant for John’s ears but which John takes anyway, hoards like leprechaun gold to soon trade for more lies and trickery. Anything it takes to feel something, even for just a few moments.

“—I’m still _mad_ , you asshole. If you think—”

John takes the residual anger in every bite that Rodney peppers under his jaw, every bruise those clever fingers brand onto John’s flesh. But he blocks the forgiveness Rodney eventually presses against his temple, the tender caress of his inevitable absolution. 

It’s not for him.

Instead, he lets roaming hands and lips map every stretch of skin with a confidence he scarcely recognizes, and the whole time the liberated silver band around John’s left ring finger burns and burns and burns.

_Rule # 4: Make sure the task is complete before you leave._

He stays on top even as he takes Rodney in his hand, up and down and up and down, matching every stroke to their synced breaths with an illicit deftness. Knowledge that doesn’t belong to John at all. He was never supposed to know what Rodney looks like with molten steel in his gaze, or how Rodney sounds when someone bends to bite his bottom lip.

Before this all started, John would’ve gutted anyone who would dare do to Rodney what he’s doing now. Would’ve flayed anyone who’d so much as _think_ about it. It’s the basest of degradations, a fate he won’t wish upon even his worst enemies.

Because force is one thing, but deception under the guise of tenderness is entirely another.

“ _John._ ”

The gasp reels him in, and John’s breath starts to hitch when he reaches back with one hand, preparing himself hastily. He doesn’t go beyond two fingers, quick and intense and not nearly enough. It doesn’t matter. It hasn't been long, anyway, and John wants to feel the burn, the resistance. He wants it to stop him from completely forgetting. He doesn’t have any right.

Beneath him, Rodney watches with eyes that turn even darker, wanton and wanting and utterly none the wiser. John bends down to kiss him again, if only so he doesn’t look into those eyes for long.

When he guides Rodney, places him right where John wants him, it’s almost right. When John sinks down, blood rushing against his ears, it almost feels like penance.

_Rule # 5: Remember that it isn’t your world._

  
  
  


ii.

_“Sheppard.”_

_John had stopped being surprised to hear Rodney’s voice in his ear at the oddest of times right around the one-month mark of the expedition. Between command staff meetings, offworld missions, and off-duty shenanigans, chances were that the dulcet tones of their Chief Scientist’s latest tirade would be the first thing John heard in the morning and the background noise he drifted off to at night._

_He couldn’t say he minded all that much, really._

_“Good morning to you, too, Rodney.”_

_Predictably, Rodney eschewed polite conversation in favor of the tried and tested method to communicate thoughts too rapid for the mortal mind: steamroller._

_“I need you to tell Teyla that I can’t join you for that lunch thing,” he told John, speech more rushed than his standard. That usually meant he’s lying, nervous, minutes away from certain death, or all three. “Frankly, I’m not convinced she really expects me to be there, anyway. She’s well aware that my time’s too valuable, and I barely have enough hours in a day as it is.”_

_For a second, John was too distracted with the way Rodney sounded like he was out of breath that the words failed to register. His lack of response allowed the monologue to go unchecked._

_“I mean, seriously?” Rodney went on. “What was she expecting? Granted, I eventually said yes, but only because she kept glaring at me! We both know Teyla’s ‘I-Will-Hit-You-With-Sticks-Tomorrow-Afternoon’ is only second to Elizabeth’s ‘My-Disappointment-In-You-Knows-No-Bounds’ in terms of things I cannot be expected to withstand.” This time, the panting sounded more obvious, clearly from the usual physical exertion instead of anything else that might’ve been supplied by someone’s overactive imagination. John shook away the warmth in his cheeks and resisted the urge to clear his throat. “Plus, there’s the small matter of—”_

_“Rodney.”_

_“—I don't know, Halling hating my guts right now? And no, Colonel, don’t tell me he’s already forgiven me for the cow thing. I. Don’t. Believe. You! So yes, it’s really in everyone’s interests if I don’t participate. Just tell her it’s for the best and —”_

_“Rodney!”_

_“— and maybe,_ maybe _, there’s a slight possibility that I— wait, what? What did you say?”_

 _John made himself count to the first ten primes before he spoke again. “I didn’t say anything, McKay. Seeing as I_ couldn’t _, with you yapping at my ear.”_

_He could feel more than hear Rodney blinking. “Oh.”_

_“Yes, ‘Oh’._ Now _, can I say something?”_

_There’s a familiar huff on the other end of the channel. “If you must.”_

_Just like that, John’s irritation dissipated, and he chuckled despite himself._

_“Good,” he started. “Now stop with the verbal diarrhea and tell me what’s really up. Why can’t you join Teyla's spring ceremony?”_

_The panting stopped, and after a beat, he heard Rodney sigh. “Simpson’s team found something in one of the labs we cleared last week. Said she needs my help, which is ridiculously par for the course that telling me is borderline redundant. I’ll probably be stuck there until after dinner. Simpson said it’s urgent.” The tail end of the answer was muttered under Rodney’s breath, but John caught something that sounded like ‘mildly interesting’. That, or ‘Maeslantkering’._

_“Today?” John demanded, just now beginning to grasp what Rodney’s saying. “Why am I only hearing about this now? Does Simpson have the right paperwork?”_

_John’s attempt to channel Elizabeth got him a loud scoff. “Because it’s under Lorne’s purview, Mr. It’s-My-Day-Off.”_

_“That’s Colonel-Day-Off, thank you very much.” John paused. “You sure you don’t need me with you?”_

_“Relax, Sheppard. I’m sure it’s just another one of those things that’s beyond Simpson’s inferior grasp of Ancient Information Systems but is entirely within my expertise. Another time-consuming but utterly banal application of my scientific prowess, no doubt.”_

_The panting started again, no doubt courtesy of Rodney already making his way to the said lab, the jerk._

_“Fine,” John said, waving a hand he knew Rodney couldn’t see. “You don’t get tea cakes, though.”_

_He got another scoff for his trouble, though this time softer._

_“Oh don’t you worry, my friend. Ronon owes me for fixing his beloved gun yesterday. I’m expecting two boxes, at least. McKay out.”_

  
  
  


iii. 

  
  


_I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’msorry. I’msorry. I’msorryi’msorryi’msorrysorrysorrysorry._

The endless string of apologies continue to tear through John’s lips long after the body beneath him has stopped moving. He keeps his eyes shut, his face drawn heavenward. The grip he has on the soft pillow remains knuckle-white, both arms stiff and elbows all but locked in place. The struggle has ceased, but John still can’t make himself move.

He stays there for a long time.

When he hears the telltale sound of vibration against solid wood, John finally jerks, a violent return to solid ground. It takes several breaths before he’s completely back, and with each exhale John blinks away every brittle memory. His only tether is the mechanical _tik-tik-tik_ that by now has become as familiar as his own heartbeat, and he lets it pull him back to the present.

To the here and now, where he’s naked on top of ruined sheets, on a bed that held a dead Rodney McKay.

Slowly, he lowers his head, careful to keep his eyes anywhere but on the stretch of crumpled linen. He spots a hint of gold on the nightstand, the timepiece he’d placed there the only object that looks real in the entire room. It’s long stopped buzzing, but the outline of it is comforting to John. The one thing that truly belongs to him.

It’s not easy, to slip off the bed and ignore the feeling of someone else’s skin on his, skin that’s now beginning to grow cold. A tradeoff, he supposes. A small price to pay for greater mercies. 

At least this time he didn’t have to see Rodney’s eyes.

Sitting up, John reaches out for the pocket watch. Flipping it open is almost second nature, but it still doesn’t stop the knot in his chest as he watches the figures behind the glass. On his worst days, this part seems like the hardest. The waiting. No matter how good a job John does, how easy, how quick, the thought of what he’s done ending up useless continues to scare him shitless.

Fortunately, the numbers on the clock face reflect exactly what he wants to see, and John allows himself to feel the smallest measure of relief. 

He quickly puts on his clothes after that, shirt and pants mercifully within reach. If he feels sullied, somehow filthier as he zips himself, John is not surprised. 

Once he’s done, he takes a moment to scan the room. The space is a familiar, the shape of the walls a welcome sight. It’s the things that litter every corner that takes him by surprise. He sees a golf set where a box of journals is supposed to be. A bare, silver laptop sits on the brown desk that’s always housed at least three tablets in black leather cases, stacked on top of each other.

It’s as though someone took two staple images in his mind and blended them together in a painfully beautiful mirage. A dream too good to be true, one that he’s made a conscious choice to bury within him a long time ago.

Before he wills the door to open, before he can cross the threshold that will lead him out of the room, John holds his left hand out in front of him, angled just so, to catch some of the moonlight streaming out of the gap in the curtains. 

The ring seems to glimmer, the way it did when John first caught a glimpse of it, on the hand of a man muttering about stubborn husbands and misunderstandings while counting picatinny rails.

Carefully, he takes it off, places it at the center of the couch, and steps into the deserted corridor.

Three levels down, in a utility space just outside an auxiliary armory, an unconscious body twitches, hands tied and mouth gagged. On the ring finger of his left hand, there is a strip of red skin that is all that remains of a wedding band pulled off under protest.

The man’s dogtags sit atop a chest that barely moves. 

_SHEPPARD_

_JOHN, E._

_180-04-1425 AF_

_0 NEG_

  
  
  


iv.

  
  


_He’d sooner unpin a grenade inside his own mouth before admitting it, but John had always made it a point to look at Rodney’s face right before walking through a stargate._

_It wasn’t easy. With John either on point or at the rear and Rodney, their only non-combat member, always at the center, getting a glimpse of anything more than the back of the man’s head or half of his face in a patented scowl had proven a challenge. It also didn’t help that running away from angry natives or flying a jumper through the event horizon with weapons fire on his ass made face-staring a non-priority._

_Still._

_When the buddy check was out of the way and they’d had Elizabeth convinced that the trade mission was trivial enough to send AR-1, the sound of the unstable vortex often accompanied stolen moments where John just made himself look at Rodney McKay, somehow compelled to commit every detail of his expressive face to memory._

_Just in case._

_“Turn it off.”_

_Silence. And then Simpson’s voice saying, “Colonel—”_

_“I said. Turn the damn thing_ off _.”_

_John felt a steady hand grip his elbow, but he kept his eyes on the display in front of him._

_“The machine is connected to Rodney, Colonel.” Carson sounded just like he did the first two times he’d outlined the situation to John. “Turning it off without fully knowing what it’s doing to him may just do more harm than good.”_

_At the center of the room stood a fifteen-feet cylindrical chamber made of Ancient crystal. It was the first thing out of Zelenka’s clipped explanation that John had understood. It wasn’t glass, the thing that surrounded Rodney; it was made of the exact same material as the very things that kept Atlantis functioning, only somehow transparent and malleable enough to have been made into such a shape._

_The cylinder glowed a faint shade of blue from the inside, where Rodney McKay floated about a meter off the ground, aimless and eyes closed in a way that made it seem as though he was just sleeping._

_In a perverse way, Rodney looked captivating. Beautiful, even. He looked almost at peace, if not for the way his face seemed to flicker in and out of existence, like an old picture show being rolled right before their eyes._

_Staring at him made John’s fingers twitch._

_“So.”_

_Behind John, Elizabeth took the reins of the conversation in what he half-suspected was a way to prevent him from marching across the lab and shaking answers out of Rodney’s scientists._

_“What do we know?”_

_John closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing the image of Rodney’s insubstantial figure out of his mind._

_He’d been in his quarters, about to change into civvies for Teyla’s lunch plans, when Zelenka’s radio call came through. He’d had just enough time to grab the sidearm he'd been planning to return to the armory after changing when the sharp but steady stream of Czech and Science English started to make sense._

_As soon as John’d heard Rodney’s name, all bets were off._

_“Contrary to our initial assessment, this lab doesn’t belong to Janus.”_

_Simpson took a step forward and gave John a searching look before turning to Elizabeth and Carson._

_“Dr. McKay was just about to try remote-accessing the main logs from his data pad when one of the consoles inside this section lit up.” she continued. “None of the equipment initialized when we first cleared this area, nor when we came in this morning, so it couldn’t have been the ATA gene.”_

_John hadn’t been looking at her, his eyes glued on the console Simpson was talking about, but he heard the frown in Elizabeth’s voice._

_“Is it possible Rodney’s attempt to get to the logs triggered some sort of security protocol?”_

_“No.”_

_The sound of Zelenka’s answer made John tear his eyes away from the console just in time to catch the way Simpson and Carson winced. While John knew that Elizabeth’s question meant no malice, he could sympathize with Zelenka’s immediate defense of Rodney’s abilities._

_“Rodney’s too smart to fall for booby trap,” Zelenka continued. “It wasn’t the logs. Could still be the Ancient gene, only something meant to turn on after certain amount of time.”_

_This made Simpson glare at him. “We don’t_ know _that.”_

_Zelenka met her eyes steadily, then looked up at the man inside the glowing chamber. “We don’t know anything.”_

_John clenched his fists and resisted the urge to force Zelenka to take his words back._

_“You said Rodney was transported inside this. . . crystal structure as soon as he crossed the threshold to this section.” Elizabeth gave John a warning look, as though she could read his mind, but she directed her words to the rest of the group. “You’re certain he’s in no immediate danger?”_

_The last statement was meant for Carson, who seemed to take too long to give an affirmative answer._

_“From a medical perspective, I‘d reckon so. Based on what we can gather for now, part of the machine is dedicated to monitoring his vitals, and the data they’re producing all say he’s stable. Frankly, his blood pressure has never been this excellent.”_

_“Brain activity?”_

_Carson jerked, clearly not expecting the question from John._

_“Also normal,” he answered when he’d recovered. “Obviously, we can’t put him under a scanner, but what analyses we were able to perform show the same results. He’s as healthy as the last time I’ve seen him.”_

_John tried to snort, but the sound came out hollow._

_Looking at Rodney’s face now, flickering in and out from under the blue light surrounding his body, John wondered if he’d committed to memory enough about Rodney the last time they’d seen each other to say the same._

  
  
  


v.

  
  


The first Rodney he meets is a world-famous pianist.

John re-materializes in an alley that looks like it’s seen better days, and it takes him a few minutes to get his bearings. Eventually, the foul stench of fast-food garbage and piss forces him to step into the sidewalk, where a busy street the likes of which he’s no longer accustomed to greets him. 

Manhattan nightlight guarantees a city that indeed never sleeps, but it’s dark enough that John doesn’t feel completely out of place in the BDUs he’d put on this morning. As he pats his vest pockets for the watch, to pull him back from the shock of the distantly familiar urban setting, John sees the signage on the theater across the street.

_MEREDITH MCKAY_

_PIANO & A TUX _

His stomach flips as he reads the words, both in relief and dread. He’s been told he won’t be far, but John wasn’t expecting it to be this easy.

“Watch it!” someone yells from behind him, forcing John to cross the road.

While sneaking into an establishment under false pretenses is hardly the most difficult operation John’s pulled off, the concert is obviously meant for a certain stratum of society. The kind of folks Patrick Sheppard rubs shoulders with. Even if John can recall a few pointers from his overprivileged upbringing, they won’t serve him as long as he looks as out of place as he does, in his black combat uniform and worn TAC vest.

Fortunately, he manages to make his way to the men’s room without drawing too much attention to himself. It doesn’t take long before someone else comes in, someone almost the exact same build as John. He quickly incapacitates the other man, helps himself to the poor bastard’s suit, and stuffs the body — alive but unconscious — into the nearest utility closet.

It’s much harder finding a spot to hide the rest of his things with more patrons and bigwigs coming in, but as soon as he does, the rest becomes almost a walk in the park. Now that he’s dressed for the occasion, John is able to move inside the theater as though he’s always meant to be there. 

After a few minutes of wandering, it occurs to him that he really just might be.

“I don’t care how much money he’s donated to the conservatory. I’m not shaking Tunney’s hand, and that’s final.”

Rodney turns around just as John closes the door to the dressing room. 

“Oh,” Rodney says with a frown. “I thought you were Laura. She’s been in and out of here since the VIPs arrived, and nothing short of signing away my spare kidney is gonna make her satisfied.”

John’s never seen Rodney in formal attire before. The closest have been the occasional ceremonial garb with their more fussy trading partners, but opportunities for black-tie invites are scarce. It’s just not how Pegasus operates.

The tux Rodney’s wearing is dark blue, obviously tailored and maybe even Italian cut. In the right angle, John bets the shade can go much deeper, almost black. Now, though, as it catches most of the glare from the vanity lights, the color just pops out, doing wonders for Rodney’s big, blue eyes.

“What is that?” 

Somehow, Rodney’s managed to come near without John noticing. Suddenly he’s right there, in John’s personal space, and picking at the collar of John’s stolen jacket.

“This isn’t the suit I got you.”

John has been planning to say something, ever since he realized he’s found Rodney, but when he opens his mouth, still, no words come out.

“JP? Is something wrong?”

Just like that, the illusion shatters.

As soon as he hears it, John stiffens under Rodney’s hand. Instincts honed sharper than a knife’s edge come alive, and John feels the air inside the room shift.

He also sees the exact moment Rodney realizes it.

Still confused but now more than a little wary, Rodney withdraws his hand and takes a step back.

“You’re not JP,” he tells John, voice filled with the same horror John’s heard from Rodney countless times before, whenever something offworld goes very, very wrong. “What the hell is going on here? Who are you!”

It takes a split second before a resolve takes root in Rodney’s eyes and he moves towards the vanity, where John suspects he’s going to find something that will alert security. 

It‘s a split second, barely a moment, but it’s all John needs before his own realization comes.

This isn’t his Rodney. This isn’t his New York, and John’s here for one purpose and one purpose only.

Forcing down a shutter between him and the way his entire body sings in the presence of Rodney, who is awake and alive and almost exactly like the man he’s left behind, John moves to intercept.

He reacts instantaneously, pushing himself forward to block Rodney’s mad grab for his things. They land, hard, on the edge of the table, and John twists Rodney’s flailing arm to keep it from hitting his face. He hears a sharp cry, pain-filled and familiar, but with a sense of detachment he hasn’t felt since his stint in Afghanistan, John wrenches them off the vanity and onto the floor.

The move sends them toppling, a violent fall that John tries to break with his knees. Rodney, who obviously has no hand-to-hand training of any kind in this world, crumples under John’s weight.

It’s then that the struggle stops.

John pushes himself up with the hand not keeping Rodney in place. He’s panting now, senses still on fire but taking advantage of the unexpected reprieve. When he looks down, he sees blue eyes blown wide open. 

Behind Rodney’s head, a stark contrast against the white, marble floor, a pool of crimson blood spreads.

  
  


Several hours later, a few blocks away from the Howard Hodgers Theatre, John wrings his filthy hands, fingers caked with dirt and dried blood. He breathes once, twice, three times, before he feels a soft and steady vibration inside his right pocket.

  
  
  


vi.

  
  


_“I still don’t understand what we’re doing here.”_

_The chair under John creaked as he shifted for the third time in the last minute. On the other side of the conference table, Elizabeth pursed her lips, too dignified to wince or glare in his direction._

_“We’re waiting for Radek and his team,” she told him instead, a few shades shy of pedantic. “He said they have something.”_

_It was bad enough that Ronon and Teyla couldn’t attend due to another emergency in the mainland. John didn’t need to be treated like a child on top of everything that was going on._

_Before he could insist that there wouldn’t be any_ waiting _if they simply brought themselves to the lab where they knew Zelenka and Simpson had been holed up for the last two days, Carson spoke up._

_“I understand your restlessness, Colonel. But there’s nothing else we can do if we stay in there with them.”_

_It was the way Carson had said it, like John was an open book and his concerns had already been noted and dismissed without anyone giving him a damn memo, that hit a nerve._

_“We don’t_ know _that, because we’re not_ fucking there _.”_

_This time, Elizabeth’s head jerked and she leveled him with a pointed look. Before she could say anything, however, the science team arrived._

_“Sorry for the wait,” Simpson told them, making a beeline for one of the chairs near Elizabeth. Zelenka and another blonde John couldn’t name trailed behind her. “We had to get something from the Big Lab.”_

_As Simpson started placing her assorted gizmo on the conference table, John watched Zelenka and the other scientist, both of whom had set up a few seats to Elizabeth’s right, directly across John. He still couldn’t place the other woman, but he vaguely recalled teasing Rodney about a new engineer who looked exactly like the women he was infamous for drooling after. Rodney had scoffed at John’s words, and loudly declared that the newbie was just a few months older than Jeannie._

_Clenching a fist under the table, John shook the memory out of his thoughts and made himself focus on the frantic way Zelenka pounded on his laptop._

_“You said you had something for us?”_

_Elizabeth addressed her question to Zelenka, but she got no response. It took a few, awkward seconds of silence, punctuated by nothing but the sound of loud typing, before Simpson cleared her throat and took over._

_“Ah,” she started sheepishly. “Yes. Yes, we do.”_

_John met Carson’s eyes as they all waited for the ball to drop._

_“Doctor?” Elizabeth urged, when Simpson still didn’t continue._

_“We were going about it the wrong way.”_

_Everyone save Zelenka turned to the third scientist, who’d been typing in her own laptop when she spoke. The second she noticed people looking at her, she swallowed and turned the faintest shade of red._

_“The lab, I mean.” She ducked her head and pressed a few more keys before sliding her laptop closer to Zelenka, who’d taken it wordlessly and continued to glare at his screen, paying no one any attention. When she turned to them again, her eyes turned sharp, the way every scientist John knew got when they mean business. “We made use of information the Elizabeth Weir from the first expedition had given us when you met her, specifically the names of Janus’ known associates. We thought if we could just figure out who owned the lab, it’d lead us right to the section of the Ancient database where we could find files about the. . . machine. And how it works.”_

_From the corner of his eye, John saw the way Elizabeth had straightened. She made no attempt to comment, however, and it was Carson who next spoke._

_“And did you, lass?” he asked. With a slight sense of shame, John felt his irritation at the other man fade away. Their priorities were still obviously the same. “Do we know what it is, then? What it’s doing to Rodney?”_

_“Yes.”_

_It was Simpson who answered this time around, taking her cue from her fellow scientist with a nod._

_“We eventually found out to whom the lab belongs, but not from the list. She wasn’t friends with Janus. At all.”_

_“She?” John couldn’t help but ask. Part of him wanted Simpson to get to the point, but he’d had practice dealing with scientists and their long-winded explanations. These people knew just how much was at stake, after all. They didn’t need him to remind them every chance he got._

_Simpson nodded. “We couldn’t connect the lab to any of Janus’ associates, so we decided to look at those who vocally opposed him. It was all easy after that, as there was only one possible person. Amaris, Myrddin’s adopted daughter.”_

_As John racked his brain for the names Simpson was giving, he heard Elizabeth’s quiet gasp._

_“Emrys.”_

_“Exactly,” Simpson said. “Emrys, or Amaris as the Lanteans had known her, publicly denounced Janus’s proclivity for dangerous and unsanctioned experiments. What the council didn’t know was that she, too, had her own clandestine activities. We suspect she designed her lab the way she did to make it seem as though it belonged to Janus, in case she got caught.”_

_“And the lab,” John pointed out. “The chamber. What is it for? How do we shut it down?”_

_To everyone’s surprise, Simpson’s eyes lit up._

_“It was hard to tell at first, because her official duties covered several disciplines. Before they left the city and evacuated to Earth, she was considered the foremost expert in high-energy nuclear physics. Or at least, the equivalent of it in Ancient science. She also led the research into energy development, as well as molecular manufacturing.” Simpson held up her hand, as though expecting an interruption. “Yes, I know. All very exciting things. But it was only when we broke through some kind of private server that she’d set up for that specific lab that it all made sense.”_

_“What made sense?” Carson asked._

_Simpson beamed at them. “She was using it to research interpenetrating dimensions.”_

_Even without looking around, John knew he wasn’t the only one gaping. He was still a bit hung up on the resentment he felt at Simpson’s obvious enthusiasm that most of what she’d been saying flew over his head. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one._

_“Multiverse theory,” came from the other end of the table. Zelenka pushed up his glasses as a grim look passed over his shadowed face. “Machine was built to cross other universes.”_

_John had his eyes fixed on Zelenka, but he heard the frown in Elizabeth’s voice. “Like a quantum mirror?”_

_The blonde engineer picked up the thread. “Not at all,” she said. “The machine Amaris created allows for inter-universal travel by connecting the subject to its counterpart in the other universe, bypassing any risk for entropic cascade failure.”_

_“Yes, yes.” Simpson’s eager voice filled the room again. “Without introducing a foreign variable to the closed system, the travel is made safer and more seamless. Quite ingenious, actually.”_

_John remembered the way Rodney’s face had quivered in and out of sight, watched the defeated look on Zelenka’s face from across the room, and only felt hollow in the face of Simpson’s awe._

_“But Rodney’s inside the machine,” Carson pointed out. “He’s not in some other universe.”_

_Zelenka shook his head. “No. Machine is not working properly. Could be it did not work at all,” he said with a shrug. “Instead of the entire subject, only fragments of Rodney have been transported. Scattered to multiple universes.”_

_Just like the same poetic irony that had governed John’s life in Pegasus, it was only then that he remembered the name of the third scientist sitting next to Zelenka: Winston. Amelia Winston._

_Like the lost pilot._

_“We can see Dr. McKay,” Winston told them. “But he’s not all there.”_

  
  
  


vii. 

  
  


It never gets easier, no matter how many times John has done it. It will still be the same blue eyes, the same look of betrayal right before they close.

  
  


vii.ii 

  
  


Hours after the pocket watch confirmed the success of his mission, and even more since he left the theater with bloody hands, the picture of Rodney seizing on the floor burning itself behind his eyelids, John ends up wandering the streets of a city that very much resembles the one he’s known as a child — not quite a native, but a frequent visitor nonetheless.

It doesn’t matter that the bodega in Fifth Avenue, with the one-eyed cat that Dave always had a soft spot for, has been replaced by a swanky, Mediterranean restaurant. John doesn’t give a damn if the Metrocard is purple, or that a memorial site now stands where Time Square is supposed to be. It looks like New York. It _smells_ like New York. If John closes his eyes, he’ll swear he’s back in the city his mother grew up in.

So it doesn’t matter if the Rodney of this world wore a tux instead of an expedition jacket. It doesn’t make a lick of difference if he’d never given up on music to unlock the secrets of the universe.

John looked into that Rodney’s eyes, the same shape and shade of sky, and he wasn’t able to see anything, _anyone_ , else. His hands held the same face, got stained by the same lifeblood he’s come to know all these years, blood as familiar to John as his own.

Rodney will always be Rodney.

And John just killed him.

At the end of the 48-hour mark, John takes out the pocket watch, holds his breath, and watches Harlem Meer fade away.

  
  


vii.iii 

  
  


The second Rodney takes him twice as long to find, and John tells himself it isn’t his own reluctance that’s to blame. The Rodney in this world is also a physicist, but he’s based in Toronto, and John appears in the middle of a suburban neighborhood under two feet of snow. 

On John’s second day, Rodney arrives from his nephew’s school to find John inside his home. Even with hours to get his head right, John still loses control of the situation, and Rodney dies, wide-eyed in the middle of the kitchen floor, the knife Ronon gave John wedged between his ribs.

Before he moves on, John throws the knife into a creek, leaves it like a fingerprint, standing witness to what he’s done.

He has just enough time to wonder what would become of it when he leaves before the pocket watch beeps and John is whisked out of that world like morning mist.

  
  


vii.iv 

  
  


The fourth time, they’re in a hotel room, Rodney blue and gasping in his arms. John holds Rodney’s fading gaze, wills himself to remember who and where he is, why he’s doing this, as he keeps the EpiPen out of reach.

  
  


vii.v 

  
  


It’s the seventh world that brings John back to Pegasus, and the first where Rodney doesn’t die by his own hands. 

It changes things.

As he watches the jumper burn from his place near the gate, John doesn’t call for rescue and waits for the smoke to clear. He waits even longer after that, until he gets his confirmation. Only then does he place the crystals back on the DHD, dial Atlantis, and leave.

When he departs that world, John still hears faint echoes of Rodney’s screams. He tells himself it’s for the best. Not having to be near when it happens fills him with a morbid sense of relief.

Along with a new plan.

  
  


vii.vi 

  
  


On a planet like so many in John’s own world, with natives living in fear of the Ancient gene, John and Rodney get captured. During their escape, John doesn’t fire back, and Rodney dies with a hole in his chest.

  
  


It’s a private facility in another New York where John doesn’t stop the sabotage of a major experiment. An explosion razes Lab 4-C to the ground, taking the company’s chief researcher down with it.

  
  


In a dark apartment in Montreal, clutching a newspaper with the headline _CAR CRASH KILLS FAMILY OF THREE_ , Rodney drinks himself into oblivion. John shows up in the middle of the night, and walks himself right through the unlocked front door. He doesn’t stop Rodney from reaching for another bottle, the one that makes all the difference, and he doesn’t call for help afterwards.

  
  


When an ally planet gets culled, John doesn’t resist when he and Rodney are whisked into a Hive ship. He doesn’t struggle when the Queen puts her hand on Rodney’s chest and takes her fill.

  
  


vii.vii 

  
  


It goes on like that for many other universes. 

John does everything in his power to make sure he doesn’t have to face Rodney, or make it so he’s never pretending to be someone he’s not, or at the very least be somewhere else when Rodney dies. It doesn’t always work, the circumstances sometimes far too out of John’s control, but he tries his best every time.

As long as he doesn’t have to do it himself, doesn’t have to stand there with blood-stained fingers, he’ll take it. If he’s not forced to look at the light fading from Rodney’s eyes, John’s convinced himself he can live with what comes after.

It’s better that way, makes absolution less like a pipe dream when this is all over. 

If it goes down like John’s planned, maybe he can still deserve to come home.

  
  


vii.viii

It never gets easier, but he is Rodney’s only hope, and John has always known that he is destined to damn the whole universe in a bargain for one man.

  
  
  


viii.

  
  


_It took Zelenka two weeks to come up with a plan._

_For two weeks, John divided his time between meetings with Lorne to delegate AR-1’s pending missions and jumper trips to escort people going to and from the mainland._

_The shuttle duty was courtesy of Teyla and Ronon’s intervention, executed after they’d witnessed John get yelled at by a Miko Kusanagi who’d been at the end of her own tether. He’d been asking her for an update for the fourth time in the same evening — after getting chased out of Amaris’ lab by Simpson — when she snapped. Seeing the angry, unshed tears in Miko’s face, the grief in it so familiar, had made it easier for the rest of John’s team to drag him back to his quarters for a nap that lasted thirteen hours._

_They were right, of course. Teyla and Ronon had known it from the start, if the tight but determined look they’d been wearing the whole time was any indication. There was nothing they could do — nothing_ John _could do — but wait for Rodney’s people to find a solution._

_“About time.”_

_John just grunted his agreement at Ronon’s comment, most of his attention focused on getting to the lab as soon as possible._

_The three of them had been at the gym, sweating out the fear they wouldn’t otherwise discuss, when Simpson’s call came through. Now, they were on their way to meet Zelenka and his team, desperate for good news._

_“Dr. Beckett assured us Rodney is not in any distress or pain,” Teyla said, deftly keeping pace with John’s increasingly frantic steps. “But it_ has _been a long and difficult two weeks.”_

_John knew both Ronon and Teyla had been with all the gate teams sent to planets Elizabeth thought might have intel on Amaris and her research. More than once, he’d wanted to accompany them, but something had always kept him from officially asking._

_Deep down, he was afraid that he’d be offworld if something came up. John just wasn’t going to risk making that same mistake again._

_“John,” Elizabeth greeted when they finally met up. Nothing in her face betrayed her nerves, but Carson, who stood behind her and was subtly trying to catch his breath, looked nervous enough for the both of them. “Do we know what they have?”_

_Before John could answer, the door to the lab slid open, and they all went inside._

_Much to their surprise, there were only two people in the lab. Zelenka was in front of the main console while Simpson was at the foot of the damn machine, staring up at Rodney’s floating form._

_Ice gripped John’s chest at the crestfallen look on her face._

_“Radek?” he heard Elizabeth call out._

_At the sound of his name, Zelenka’s head shot up and he eyed them with mild irritation, then surprise. When he blinked, the shock gave way to recognition, before a fierce kind of resolve took root behind his glasses._

_“Yes, yes.” He typed a few more things on the laptop he’d mounted on the console before hopping off to where John and the rest were standing. “Is good you’re all here. I have much to explain, and I will do it only once.”_

_About a few feet to his left, Simpson looked away from the chamber to frown at her fellow scientist._

_“Radek.”_

_“Not now, Lydia.”_

_Before anyone could dwell on the exchange, Zelenka faced them again and rubbed his hands together._

_Normally, that would’ve instilled in John all the confidence he needed to believe that everything’s going to be alright, but something about the way Simpson shrunk behind Zelenka, her face yet again drawn to her unconscious boss, made John feel worse._

_“You said you found something?” Teyla urged from beside him._

_Zelenka took the question as his cue and nodded vigorously, hands twisting in dynamic shapes as he spoke._

_“Not found,” he said. “Realized. Key piece, with me all along. Amaris studied forbidden science, but it isn’t new, so solution isn’t new, either. Everything in this lab is not new. Revolutionary, maybe, but all from concepts we understand from Ancient systems.”_

_As Zelenka went on to revisit what they’d gathered about Amaris and Janus, John resisted the urge to grab the man by the collar. They didn’t have_ time _for this._

_In fact, he’d been so focused on waiting for any information he could understand or that was functional to the problem at hand that he almost missed it when Zelenka finally got to the good part._

_“I don't understand,” Elizabeth interrupted, bringing John’s attention back to the conversation. “How exactly is another matter bridge going to help us?”_

_Zelenka’s face twisted into a tight shape, but it quickly eased up when it looked like he realized who was asking the questions._

_“Parts of Rodney are scattered across different universes, yes? Matter bridge allows us access to them.”_

_All of a sudden, it felt like everyone in the room held their breaths at the same time. John’s own head started to feel lighter._

_“Forgive me.” Carson was frowning, and his words came out almost dazed. “But we haven’t exactly the best of luck with these things.”_

_“Carson’s right,” said Elizabeth. “The fact that you would even_ suggest _such a thing. Radek, you of all people know just how bad a track record we’ve had when it comes to these kinds of plans.”_

_Long silence followed. They all knew the only other person outside Radek whom Elizabeth could’ve been referring to was the reason they were all here in the first place._

_“I know,” Zelenka replied, waving a dismissive hand so fiercely John saw the barely concealed surprise in Elizabeth’s face. “But we have new research. We have this lab! Things are different now. Rodney would say so.”_

_It was a low blow, and John knew Elizabeth would see it as such._

_“And how exactly would traveling to these universes help us save Rodney, anyway? Better yet, do we even_ know _how to build this matter bridge? What energy it would require?”_

_At that, Zelenka moved back to the console and descended on his laptop, as though Elizabeth’s questions were the beginning of her approval._

_John knew better._

_“I am developing an algorithm to track down all the Rodneys we will need. That is first step. Once that is completed, I can modify the machine’s navigation systems into something portable, but less sophisticated. The difficult part is inter-universal connection. We cannot use something like Arcturus, so we need new approach. Amaris is brilliant, truly. Geniální. Her work on quantum tunneling? Impressive, yet difficult. And ambitious. But enough time, I can maybe improve it, yes? Perhaps Rodney can help as well. Yes, that would be quite nice.”_

_“Rodneys?” Ronon asked, his loud rumble one of the few things anchoring John as he slowly pieced Zelenka’s plan in his mind. He doesn’t know how to feel about the morbid picture it’s slowly turning out to be._

_Zelenka barely looked up from his screen. “For extraction, of course.”_

_When she spoke again, Elizabeth’s voice sounded brittle. John wondered if she felt just as unmoored as he was._

_“And how would we extract the pieces of Rodney from his . . . counterparts?”_

_The look on Simpson’s face was all the answer they needed._

_An hour later, after Elizabeth had pulled Zelenka into a separate section of the lab and demanded an explanation for his behavior, everyone save John slowly started to leave. He was now alone in the central room, Rodney’s quiet non-presence his only company. He thought about what Zelenka had said, and if being cooped up with the glowing chamber had driven the man to such desperate measures._

_John wondered how long he had to stay for the same thing to happen to him._

  
  


viii.ii 

  
  


_To no one’s surprise, Elizabeth pulled the plug on Zelenka’s plan, and after a week, she started scaling back the efforts to study Amaris’s lab and get Rodney out._

_John, of course, didn’t take this quietly. What ensued was the biggest fight between any two members of the command staff in the expedition’s history, and John had only backed down when he saw the look on the faces of his men and realized just how ugly things could turn out if he pushed Elizabeth over the edge._

_In the end, the word of the city's commander was law, and AR-1 was placed back on rotation, with Dr. Ambrose as their temporary fourth, barely a month after Rodney got scattered to the winds of spacetime._

  
  


viii.iii

_Another week after all but Simpson and two other scientists had been left working on Rodney’s situation, a databurst from the SGC came through, with an order for Elizabeth to return to Earth and explain the predicament of her Chief Science Officer._

_Three hours after that, John showed up outside the door to Zelenka’s quarters._

  
  
  


ix.

  
  


The first time John forgets and stays in one world too long, his body is almost torn apart by what feels like every string holding all universes together.

He knows the risk, the danger. He walked into this with no assumptions that it’s going to be easy, or even entirely possible. John is driven by a pulsing need, an almost holy sense of purpose, but he understands enough about his limitations to know better.

There are rules to this madness, after all.

But when he steps into a reality where Atlantis is free of the Wraith and Rodney kisses him on the mouth in greeting, surprised that he’s apparently back home so soon, John’s resolve crumbles like ash in his mouth.

When Rodney smiles against his lips, runs warm hands from his shoulders down to his arms, John forgets that he’s not supposed to do this. That when he discovered he could finish his mission without the need to pretend, without having to touch or hear or even see Rodney, when he can take what he needs without being in the same room, that it’s how John’s convinced himself things are supposed to go.

“John?” Rodney asks, a soft frown taking shape in that damn familiar face.

Instead of answering, John closes the gap between them and kisses this Rodney again, tips his chin and swallows the answering gasp. As the rest of the world falls away, John breathes Rodney in, loses himself in the taste of something he’s only ever dreamed about. Has never allowed himself to want.

That night, John loses himself even more, and stumbles into the bed of a John Sheppard who is loved by Rodney McKay.

It’s the beginning of the end.

When his hands start to tingle, John barely notices. They stay in bed for a long time, sating a hunger inside John he doesn’t even know has been there all along. He presses trembling fingers to every expanse of skin he can reach, whispers fervent prayers into temple, neck, wrist, thigh.

Rodney fucks him deep and slow, and John’s world narrows down to the sensation of being taken, of being had, in every sense of the word. He doesn’t stop himself from getting loud, shouts his pain and pleasure with no regard until the moaning turns to keening, and the worship becomes penitence.

He’s so deep in the illusion that when he realizes what the tremors mean, what the headache growing inside his skull is telling him, it’s already too late.

John is alone in the room when he hears a loud vibration inside the pocket of his discarded pants. He takes the golden watch out, barely manages to squint at the bright 48-hour mark, before the world stutters, tilts in John’s personal axis, and shifts him out of phase with everything around him.

The pain is bad, all that John is and ever hopes to be ripped into opposite directions. His head pounds, and shutting his eyes had no effect on the pulsing in his vision. It goes on like that for a long time, until nothing feels real, and the ground is but a yawning abyss.

The pain is bad, but remembering is so much worse.

John is gasping for air in the middle of the floor as he is forced to recall everything that’s led him to where he is, and just exactly who he can never be.

That night, John lets Rodney take him to the bathtub, lets water fill to the brim and pushes the man who calls him a lover _down, down, down_. He feels Rodney struggle, the sound of flesh against wet porcelain drowning out every air bubble, every flail.

When it stops, all John sees are glassy, blue eyes, unmoving in the water.

He leaves before the tile completely dries.

  
  


ix.ii

  
  


The thing about traveling to realities where another version of everything you’ve ever known exists, is that there’s always the possibility of another you in it.

John is perfectly aware how much trouble it can be if he meets himself in a world he slips into. More than the literal time limit and the risk of getting cancelled out by the cosmos, any version of him within the vicinity of a Rodney McKay is a threat to him and his mission.

It’s a truth that he understands more than anyone in any iteration of reality: a John Sheppard who is with Rodney, who knows Rodney the same way John knows his own, will not stand by and let him do what he needs to do.

John knows exactly how hard he’s going to fight.

  
  


ix.iii

  
  


In one world, a Sheppard appears just as John holsters his gun.

He barely dodges a knife to the shoulder before he sends them both toppling outside the window, out into the backyard. The broken shards prove a benefit, and John grabs one, drives it into an exposed neck. He watches as glass splits open the skin, sprays blood right into John’s face. He doesn’t let go until the struggling stops.

When it’s over, John is numb, barely has enough sense to make sure there were no witnesses. He works on autopilot as he cleans up, collects his things, and lays the bodies side by side, on the carpet of the oddly Rockwellian living room. 

The whole time, his only prayer is that the collateral damage has no complications for his primary objective.

He doesn’t feel guilty, looking at this world’s John Sheppard. Not really.

It’s not the first time John has wanted to kill something that wears his face, after all.

  
  


ix.iv

  
  


It’s a reality where Atlantis is above the clouds when John encounters another version of himself just in time to witness the aftermath.

Rodney is sprawled on the bed, pale and cold, with a dark red stain at the center of his chest. 

When the door hisses open and someone else walks in, John is hidden in the shadows, silent but bristling. He neither moves nor breathes when the other Sheppard gasps, drops his gym bag, and runs.

John stays exactly where he is as he watches this world’s Sheppard cycle through all stages of grief, and not even when Sheppard holds Rodney to his chest and howls and howls and howls.

  
  


ix.v

  
  


There’s another world with a Rodney that’s already on death’s door even before John shows up. It’s the shortest trip he’s ever made.

He arrives in another version of Atlantis, in the middle of a quiet infirmary. When the reality’s John Sheppard looks up, he doesn’t even appear all that surprised to see John. He doesn’t seem to feel much of anything, face ashen even with the unkempt beard.

It’s not unlike looking at a mirror, actually.

After a brief explanation that John figured he owes the other Sheppard, the gun aimed at him is turned, pistol grip first.

As John shuts down the machines keeping this world’s Rodney alive, the other Sheppard closes his eyes, face turning almost peaceful.

John is many things, but an oathbreaker isn’t one of them.

He pulls the trigger.

  
  


ix.vi

  
  


There have been other Sheppards. Countless more.

There are ones who plead with John, who try to make him see reason. Some offer themselves, or promise help to find another way. Others run to get to Rodney first. 

There are also those who never ask questions. As soon as they understand the situation, they just move to take John out. Some nearly succeed.

Still, a world where he is trying to kill himself isn’t the worst. It makes his mission harder, sure, but seeing another him when he gets there, even one who’s at the other end of a gun barrel, is something John still prefers to the alternative.

He’s never liked the worlds where Rodney doesn’t have a John Sheppard at all.

  
  


ix.vii

  
  


When John steps into a world where John Sheppard is dead, the rules change.

He doesn’t always meet himself, and in the worlds where he doesn’t, it’s mostly because another Sheppard just isn’t around. John doesn’t have time to ask questions or tempt his luck.

But with definitive proof that he is the only one in a reality, his mission is turned on its head. More than the time limit being rendered unimportant, it’s the sight of a Rodney McKay who knows what John is and where he’s come from that pulls the rug under John’s feet.

This world’s Rodney wears his grief like second skin, and he kisses John with fervent whispers of memories John doesn’t share. He fucks John in the bed his Sheppard died in, and leaves bruises John suspects another universe cannot erase.

This Rodney wants John to stay.

Without the risk of entropic cascade, John has all the time in this reality. For a small eternity, he can allow himself to forget, to indulge in the touch of a man who looks like his best friend, who’s loved and lost someone who had John’s face.

But like every fantasy, John walks into their shared room one day and sees the pocket watch. It wrenches him out of the dream, reminds him of the Rodney waiting for him back home.

That night, when John points a gun at the man sharing his bed, Rodney doesn’t look surprised.

  
  
  


x.

  
  


_The day Elizabeth left for the SGC was the day John and Zelenka executed their plan._

_“Take this.”_

_Zelenka placed something heavy on his right hand. When John looked down, he was stunned to find something familiar sitting on his palm._

_“Is this. . . ”_

_“Rodney’s pocket watch, yes.” There’s a delicate, faraway look on Zelenka’s face when he’d said it, and John wanted to turn away. “He doesn’t admit it, but he is sentimental. Almost old-fashioned.”_

_The pocket watch was heavy and substantial in John’s hand, far larger than the others he’d seen before. “It belonged to his grandfather,” he told Zelenka, though he knew the other man must’ve known it already._

_“Yes. Heirloom, I think it was. I was sorry at first, but it felt appropriate. Symbolic, yes?”_

_John looked up, confused, but Zelenka just pointed at the timepiece, urging him to open it._

_The dials inside it were gone, replaced by reference marks that looked highly functional but far more complicated. One section showed a standard digital clock format, with three pairs of zeroes. Next to it sat two idle bulbs, red and green in color. Beneath the numbers, John could see two square buttons. One black, one white._

_“Rodney’s gonna kill you,” was all John could say._

_Zelenka just snorted. “I look forward to it,” he told John. “Now you must listen. This watch is best I could make, but it will have to do. Numbers tell you the time limit. It resets in every reality. Green light means successful extraction and red means, well, not successful. The navigation system should bring you close to that reality's Rodney. I had it keyed to his specific signature.”_

_“Geez, Radek,” John muttered under his breath. “Won’t I need a manual for this?”_

_His question was ignored as Zelenka continued. “Time limit is important, Colonel. The device is crude; not my best work. Like the quantum mirror, you are physically there. You cannot stay for long. This black button, then, sends you to the next location when you are ready.”_

_“And the white one?”_

_“Failsafe. Anytime, you can press it. It should send you back here.” Zelenka frowned. “That is the plan, at least. Press every button three times to work.”_

_Carefully, John ran his thumb over the controls. “These lights around the rim?” He pointed at the ring of smaller bulbs that looked embossed on the circumference. “What are they for?”_

_“They glow when it is done. Complete extraction of all subjects.”_

_“And if I press the white button before that happens? What happens to Rodney then?”_

_Zelenka didn’t respond, and John suspected it was because they both already knew the answer._

_The night before he was scheduled to leave, John found himself in Amaris' lab._

_“You’re making a terrible mistake.”_

_John reluctantly looked away from Rodney’s face to find Carson standing on the other side of the threshold._

_“I don’t quite understand what it is you and Radek are planning, but it’s not right, Colonel. You know it.”_

_He gave Carson a shrug. “Don’t know what you mean, doc.”_

_Part of John felt that Carson was already aware of more than he should, but John was not about to confirm anything either way. Even to Teyla and Ronon, John shared just enough for them to know that John had a plan, and that he was pushing through with it come hell or high water. He also needed to do it alone._

_It said a lot about how their team worked that both Teyla and Ronon immediately understood: there was no changing John’s mind._

_Naturally, the answer didn’t satisfy Carson. “What do I tell Rodney, John? When he wakes up and finds you gone, what do I tell him?”_

_John shrugged again, suddenly bone-tired. He turned his gaze back on Rodney, on the flickering face that John feared would haunt him for the rest of his days. He wondered how much of Carson’s wishful thinking the other man really believed in._

_“Something a better man would say.”_

_In the morning, John stands at the center of an empty gate room that had been cleared for 'temporary drills' under his orders. He looked up at the control balcony, at Zelenka about to dial a Milky Way gate. The idea was to use the charge from the ZPM to power the device and slingshot John to his first destination, as well as to activate the mechanism meant to sustain future trips._

_It was all dangerously theoretical, but between Amaris’ notes and Zelenka’s brand of mad science, John was confident he’s in good hands._

_Clutching the pocket watch in his fist, John closed his eyes and waited for the sound of the unstable vortex._

_He thought about Rodney’s face the whole time._

  
  
  


xi.

  
  


The mark the ring left on his finger still itches even as John reaches the South Pier.

It’s almost dawn, and as he waits for this world’s sun to come out and rise, John traces the edge of the pocket watch, runs his thumb above the lights that will tell him it’s finally over.

Not long now.

When John presses the black button, _once, twice, three times_ , he shuts his eyes and thinks of home.

**Author's Note:**

> [ Footnote (w/ spoilers!) ]  
> 
> 
> \- The title is a stylized version of the name of Jet Li’s character(s) from the movie _The One_ , which was the main inspiration for this story.  
> 
> 
> \- Plenty of artistic license on the writer’s part in fulfilling the _Rape/Non-Con_ and _Major Character Death_ tag requests. The Non-Con is for all the times John slept with Rodney and Rodney didn’t know that it’s not really ‘his’ John, while the Major Character Death is for the many Rodneys (and the few Johns) that had to die for the sake of Plot.  
> 
> 
> \- All the technobabble is fringe science at best and Google science at worst. (Sometimes, it even just depends on what sounds good.) Suspension of disbelief is highly encouraged. Also, do not attempt anything in this story at home. Rodney is supposed to be the smart one, and look what happened to him.  
> 
> 
> \- Concrit is, of course, more than welcome. Enjoy!


End file.
